


Pursuit of Happiness

by Eonneo



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2019-09-02 05:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16780387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eonneo/pseuds/Eonneo
Summary: You're tired of Los Santos. It has nothing to offer you except drugs and potentially being robbed. Michael tries to prove that it may offer more, though.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I found this in my computer last night. I remember writing it forever ago, but I never finished it. So I finished it. It's a bit different from my usual writing style, and isn't as detailed as I like, but it's nice in general. So some good ol' lovin' for Michael. Enjoy.

The night life of Los Santos was beaming. Pedestrians went to and from on the streets, car horns blared at the thinning traffic, and you were sure you heard a lone dog bark in the distance.  
Living in Alta brought you an inner peace almost every night, watching the night life unfold with the individual personalities of the city. And in your lonesome nights, you longed to be a part of it, enjoying a bitter alcoholic drink in a local bar, or watching a crude film in the cinema. But no matter how much you loved it, you were never really a part of it. Just a jealous, childish figure in the distance, watching out your window.  
There was a knock at the door, and you knew it was him.  
“Come in,” you beckoned, not moving from your spot on the window sill.  
The door opened with a resistant creek, and quietly shut. After the few clicks of dress shoes against the tile, he appeared around the corner.  
“Hey, sweetheart,” he called. 'Sweetheart' wasn't for you specifically. He called most of the females he interacted with by that name, and as much as you wanted to find some comfort in it, you knew it would drag you down to an emotional plane you couldn't escape.  
He was dressed in a black suit, his hair neatly combed. He hadn't shaved in a few days, giving him a tint of a five o' clock shadow. He was quite the sight to look at.  
“Hey,” was all you could muster back.  
An odd silence hung between you two. You didn't mean for it, you just weren't sure of how to tell him.  
“So, what did you need?” he asked, walking over to your counter and leaning against it. A bottle of gin rested neatly on the marble, a clear shot glass beside. He began to help himself to the bitter liquid.  
You let out a heavy sigh, and gave another sideways glance outside.  
“Somethin' on your mind?” he asked, downing his first shot of alcohol.  
“I suppose,” you said.  
“Well, what's there to 'suppose?”  
You bit you lip and let out another heavy sigh.  
He scrunched his face up.  
“You gonna' tell me or what?”  
“Alright,” you said, pushing from the window to stand. “I'm leaving.”  
He was about to drink another shot when he froze up at that phrase, his eyebrows arching in confusion.  
“What do you mean you're leaving?” he asked, emphasizing the last word.  
“I mean, I'm leaving, Michael. Moving. I'm getting out of here.”  
“And where are you going?” he asked, moving away from the counter to stand straight.  
“Liberty City, probably, but really anywhere.”  
“So you're going somewhere, but you don't know where?”  
You gave a quick nod of your head, shrugging.  
“There isn't a damn thing in this city, Michael, and you know that. This place is abso-fucking-lutely crazy. I mean, I can't go to the grocery store without feeling like someone's gonna' rob me. 'Hey, hands up! Give me the gluten-free bread and nobody gets hurt!' I mean, what the fuck even IS this place?” You quickly shut up, holding your breath. You didn't expect to have such a tangent. Even Michael seemed surprise, his face full of further confusion.  
“You think it's gonna' be better in Liberty City?”  
“I don't know if it's going to be better. But I know I have to at least try and look for something better.”  
“Have you ever even been to Liberty City? It may as well be the fuckin' knock off of Los Santos. Crime ain't much better there.”  
“I won't know if I don't try, though,” you argued.  
Michael took the shot he had neglected earlier and grit his teeth.  
“You don't need to try to find out it's no better than here. Hell, I can tell you that. Anyone with half a fuckin' brain can tell you that.”  
His demeanor was stiff. You hadn't expected him to argue against you leaving so harshly. You shrugged your shoulders at him again, scowling.  
“What do you care if I go?”  
He began to pace the room, looking away from you as he spoke.  
“It's not about 'caring'. It's about knowing that you're gonna' fuck up your life on the pursuit of some bullshit idea of a higher meaning to existence. You're not gonna' find it in Liberty City. Hell, you're not gonna' find it anywhere. It's just a cheap concept the media's forced into our heads, getting us to spend our time and money searching for something we can't really have!”  
He stopped pacing and turned back to face you. There was something in his eyes that made you uncomfortable. As long as you had been working with him, you had seen him share a multitude of personalities and emotions. But this was new.  
“How can a man who has never been happy tell me what's best for me?” you retorted, crossing your arms. You couldn't lie to yourself – you appreciated his concern, but what you didn't appreciate was his demanding tone with it.  
“I'm the exact person who should be telling you what's best for you! I've been there, searching from city to city, from poor to rich. I've spent my whole life searching for that one thing that would make me happy. I thought I'd find it in money, in my family, or even in myself. But I haven't. I haven't found a damn thing in all these years that I can reasonably say makes me happy.”  
“So what, you're telling me to just give up and stay miserable forever?” you questioned.  
“No!” He said it so loudly that he took himself off guard. He gave a quick pop to his neck, pacing back over to the kitchen counter for another drink of gin. “No. What I'm saying is that you're not gonna' find it this way.”  
You walked to the opposite side of the counter and leaned against it, giving him a look of distrust.  
“Then how am I gonna' find it?”  
He poured a shot and shrugged, waving the shot glass around in front of him as he spoke.  
“Look, I can't tell you how to do things right. But I can tell you how to avoid doing them wrong.”  
“So I'm just suppose to drop my dreams for your philosophical bullshit?”  
He downed the shot and slammed the glass on the marble counter top.  
“Don't listen to me, fine! But when you come crawling back to Los Santos because someone in Liberty City hurt your feelings, I will, without a doubt, let you know that I fucking told you so!”  
“Thanks so much for the fucking advice!” you said, raising your voice to a level uncomfortable to you. “Why didn't I think to ask the man who's family hates him about what it takes to be happy?”  
“Hey, don't bring my family into this!”  
“At least you HAVE family here, Michael! At least you HAVE people here who care about you.”  
“What the fuck makes you think you don't have people who care? Goddamn, kid. I care, or I wouldn't be here wasting my breath keeping you from leaving!”  
That sentence created a silence between the two of you. You knew he cared. You knew he wouldn't waste his time running his mouth on something he didn't care about. Michael was happy to let people make fools of themselves. But here he was, doing his best to keep you here. And even then, you still just wanted out. You wanted to up and disappear.  
“Michael, I don't think the life I live here is for me. You? You're good at it. You're made for this. But me? I'm not.”  
“What's that supposed to mean?” he asked.  
“It means what I said. I'm bad at being a criminal.”  
“The hell you talking about? I wish half the crew could do the job as well as you.”  
“How so?” you quickly asked. Maybe you needed to hear that. To hear him compliment you.  
“How so? What, you need praise to make you feel good? You're just good. You haven't been caught yet, and you haven't fucked up yet.”  
You gave him a glare, unsure to trust his compliments.  
“I'm slow as fuck, though.”  
“So? I'd rather it be done slow and right than quick and wrong. Who wouldn't?”  
You let out a groan.  
“There's your fuckin' compliment. What more do you want?”  
“I don't know what I want, Michael!” you blurted. His eyes widened a bit, but he said nothing, holding the bottle of gin in one hand while his other hand rested around the shot glass on the counter.  
“Nobody does,” he said.  
“Okay, but 'nobody' isn't my problem. I'm my problem.”  
Michael nodded, and poured another shot.  
“That ain't a problem. Like I said earlier, we're pumped full of lies that lead us to believe we're looking for what makes us happy. We're not ever gonna' find it. Why waste your time looking? Just enjoy what you have now.”  
You scoffed at that, and he obviously felt insulted by the look on his face.  
“What do I have now?”  
“Well,” he said, waving the shot glass around aimlessly, “you have me. You have T. Frank. The whole crew. We all kind of need each other to survive, as much as we hate each other.”  
“Great, a guy who never left his mid-life crisis, a psychopath, and a gang banger. What more could I ask for?”  
“You sound unappreciative, kid,” he quipped.  
“Yeah, fuck you, Michael,” you spat. You wanted to drink now, confused and unsure of your choices. You reached across the counter and stole the gin and shot glass from him.  
“If it'll keep you here,” he laughed.  
You gave a brutal scowl as you poured your shot. Of course his sleazy ass would say something like that. Being sleazy was all he knew.  
“Fuck off, you sleezy fuck.”  
He shrugged innocently.  
“What? Can't blame a guy for trying.”  
You let out a quick breath, but smiled, the tension quickly dissipating with his greasy personality. How did he do it? How did he work your emotions so damn well?  
“Like you'd fuck me.”  
His aggressive demeanor from earlier seemed to have vanished in an alcohol-induced flirtatious behavior. It put you in a better mood, too. You still had reservations about your future plans, but maybe you didn't need to worry about it. Maybe Michael was right on everything, and you were just too stubborn to admit it.  
“What? Is that a challenge?” he asked.  
“A challenge? What? No,” you dismissed. Did you want it to be?  
“I think it was. You're interested in ol' Mikey, aren't you?” he teased.  
“You wish!”  
“I don't wish for nothin'. If I want it, I get it.”  
“You're sleazy, fuck,” you said, unsure of what to make of his advances.  
“And you're cute. We doin' this or not?”  
You downed two more shots of gin in succession. The bottle was nearly empty, but you knew you'd need more to handle what he just said.  
“Well?”  
“Aren't you married?”  
“Yeah, I'm married to a woman who fucked her tennis instructor and is now fucking her yoga instructor. What a happy husband I am.”  
You titled your head in confusion.  
“Does it make you any better if you fuck someone else?”  
“I ain't here to be better, sweetheart. I'm here to be me.”  
He began to slowly pace towards you. It made you a little nervous, but at the same time, you knew where the situation was going, and you wanted to go there with it. Michael just had a way with words that worked on nearly anyone he spoke to. Especially women. Were you just falling into his trap, too? Or was there more to it? Was there a deeper connection?  
“C'mon, sweetheart.” He had said 'sweetheart' so many times that it nearly lost its meaning to you.  
You backed up just a bit, running your fingers along the counter.  
“I don't know,” you muttered. You were intrigued by the idea – but was it a good idea?  
“One night. Why not? If you're leaving, does it really matter what happens in Los Santos? It'll stay here.”  
He held a hand out to you. You could smell the liquor on him, but it wasn't too overpowering. His cologne was much stronger, and it made you want the idea all the more.  
“Will anyone find out?”  
“It's nobody's business, hon.”  
You let out a heavy sigh. Another in many.  
“Fine.” You had hardly gotten the word out before he had his arms around your back and waist, pulling you to him for a kiss.  
It was sloppy and filled with both your tongues. You could taste the gin he had drank, and it was stronger the longer you two kissed. He moved to the side just slightly, pressing you against the counter and himself against you.  
You felt him grind against you, running his tongue along your neck as he tugged at your hair. Your nails dug into his arms, and with just a little bit of attention from him, you were desperate to get him to the bed, couch, or anywhere you could have him.  
“Fuck, let's do this,” you gasped.  
“Ata' girl,” he said. “But not so soon.”  
“You started this shit, man, don't tease me.”  
There was a quiet laugh from him.  
“Let's get to the bedroom.” You didn't need to be told twice, moving from his hold on you to get down the stairs to your room. He slapped your ass as you two walked. It made you want to hit him for his brashness, but at the same time you liked it.  
The bedroom was dark, only the lights of Los Santos illuminating it. Once in the door, Michael slammed it behind you two, grabbing you from behind. You felt his breath on your neck, warm and fast, his hands groping your chest and thighs.  
“Take your clothes off,” he whispered, tugging at the button on your jeans.  
“You first,” you grunted, but he wasn't fond of your demanding tone, grabbing your chin and turning your head towards him.  
“I said take your goddamn clothes off.”  
You shivered, but obliged, quickly undressing alongside him. He tossed his pants to the floor, immediately on you again when he caught glimpse of your naked body.  
“Fuck,” he groaned, his tongue sliding from your neck down to your chest. Your body shivered as his hand traced from your side to between your legs, teasing before he slid them inside you. You had no clue what he was doing with them, but each little twitch made you hot and squirm.  
His tongue was back at your mouth, your lips covering with his saliva as he passionately kissed you. The force of him against you caused the two of you to back into the foot of your bed. Michael used the extra brace to push harder against you, fingers working at you while his tongue slid over your jawline.  
“Get up there,” he whispered, removing his fingers and leaving you wanting more of him.  
Without hesitation, you slid back up towards the pillows, Michael following suit. He was over top of you, looking down at your body, short breaths accompanying.  
“Hey, we're doin' this right,” you teased, hand moving to the night stand at the side of the bed. After a blind search, you pulled out a condom, holding it in front of him.  
“Oh, so you're prepared for this kind of thing, are you?”  
“Put the damn thing on, Michael!”  
He didn't fuss, tossing the wrapper to the floor and wasting no time. As soon as he finished, he let his arms go up under yours, a mess of another kiss with it. Without his hands, he slid right in to you, giving a soft moan between your lips. The sound pushed you further into your bliss, his hips working with a rough, but slow rhythm. It was fantastic, your head falling back with the ecstasy of it. Michael took the opportunity to offer a quick, sharp bite to it.  
“Fuck,” you said at the surprise, but didn't complain. It made you think that it was your turn to have some fun with him.  
More, he thrusted, the bed loud and your moans louder. Michael loved it, making a mess of your mouth. “Stop a moment,” you casually asked, and he quickly stopped.  
“Am I hurtin' you?”  
“No. It's just my turn,” you insisted.  
“Oh, I see. Gonna' show off some, aren't you?”  
“Get off me,” you asked, embarrassed by him. He listened, rolling over to his back, letting his arms rest behind his head.  
“Well I'm waitin'”  
You moved to straddle his torso, arching your back just to tease him with your chest.  
“Goddamn, you look good,” he assured, hands moving to grab your hips.  
You let yourself tease him, moving over his hips but keeping him from entering you. Michael bit his, lip, breaths becoming shorter. His nails dig into your sides, hips grinding slightly against yours until he was fed up with your tease, angling himself so he was back inside. You didn't give him the pleasure of doing any more work, hands at either side of his head, working at a pace faster than his.  
“Oh, fuck,” he hissed, head back, eyes closed and nails nearly drawing blood from your skin.  
Hanging over him as you were put your chest near him, and he took the moment to suck one of your nipples, freeing a hand to cup the other breast. When done with your chest, he went to slap your ass, grabbing hard and giving a rough upward thrust.  
“I'm fucking about to go,” you moaned, both of you hitting your hips together.  
His hands at your lower back, he pulled you into him, letting a hand tangle in your hair as he kissed you with a kiss filled with tongues. The heat in your hips grew, and with one final movement, your climax hit, moaning into his mouth.  
Towards the end of yours was his, Michael following suit to you with his sounds. The two of you slowed until you were lying on top of him, both of you a panting mess.  
“So you're stayin', right?” Michael asked between breaths, rubbing your back.  
“Really?” you asked.  
“You stay and maybe you can have some more of me.”  
“What a bargain,” you sarcastically said.  
“Right, act like you didn't like it. I know I'm good, sweetheart.”  
“I did all the work at the end!” You insisted.  
“I won't deny that.”  
“Let me get this thing off,” he asked, and you pushed up to all fours, hanging over him. He pulled off the condom and tossed it into the garbage next to the bed.  
After a few more minutes of catching your breath, you rolled over to lie beside him, looking outside at the booming life of Los Santos. It was home. It was miserable in some ways, but it was home. You knew the misery. The people. The action. It was comforting in some ways, even if terrifying in other ways.  
Michael rolled over too, arm draping over your side, pulling you closer to him.  
“I know you'll stay. If that didn't convince you, then nothin' will.”  
“Sheesh. Sleazy,” was all you replied.  
“Sleazy, and you love it.”  
Michael said nothing more, and in your stupor at the city, you noticed his breathing slowed and was steady. He was asleep. He was a lot of things, actually, good and bad. But most importantly, he was a man with a good point. Tiredness began to sweep over you, and you gave in, leaving your decision of a better life to the morning.


	2. Convincing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're still not sure what Los Santos offers. Michael reminds you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this unfinished forever now, but I'm a bit down tonight and felt like writing a bunch of smut. I hated this at first but am happy with the outcome. Hopefully, you all like it too - even if this fic wasn't too popular for my stuff.

You fucking idiot. Really. You knew you were ruining everything by backing out of the next mission. But ever since _that_ night, that night with Michael, you felt weird being around the gang. He had kept his promise to keep it secret – something you were worried was just a lie under the alcohol – but he hadn't lied. But _you_ knew. You knew, and it bothered you.  
Why did it bother you? Was it because he was married? Or you felt played by his emotions? Both? Something more? The more you asked the question, the more you felt upset that you had no answer.  
It had been fun. It had felt good. He was good at what he did, and even after he had sobered up, he complimented you before leaving. And that was the last time you had tried to talk to him, about three or so weeks ago. Of course, he had tried to contact you since then, but you were ignoring him.  
Lester had called you up yesterday, giving you info on the next heist. And you had backed out. Told him you were leaving Los Santos, because you still planned to. This infuriated Lester, leaving you both in a quick spat. You hung up and let it go, figuring that was that.  
You had even given your notice to your landlord. Found a place in Liberty City. Not the best place, but not the worst. Put your resume out. All in just two weeks. It was going to happen. And as Michael said, the incident could stay in Los Santos.  
The sun was setting over Los Santos, casting a red glow in your dim apartment. The skyline darkened with the sun's absence, and as much as you'd normally find some sort of pleasure in it, you only felt guilty and used. Michael was a sleazy man who would say and do what it took to get what he wanted, and you fell into it.  
You sipped at some wine. This was your third glass. Surely, you'd begin to feel comfortably numb soon enough.  
A knock on the door, and you thought your heart stopped beating.  
_”Fuck,”_ you whispered, staring distastefully at your door.  
Slowly, you pushed from the couch, lightly padding over to the door with bare feet. The floor was cold, a shiver crawling up your spine.  
At the door, you peaked through and saw Michael, standing impatiently.  
_FUCK!_ you thought.  
Another knock, and it was unexpected, so you jumped back.  
Of course it was going to get worse. Of course you couldn't just hop out of Los Santos without ever having to deal with anybody. Of fucking course nothing ever worked out for you.  
A third knock, harder.  
He knew you were in here. And if you didn't answer, he'd probably find a way in. He was Michael De fucking Santa.  
So, you opened the door, reluctantly, only halfway.  
“Finally! What the hell are you doing?”  
As per usual, he was dressed neatly and nicely. The smell of cologne came through the door.  
“I told you I was leaving, Michael!”  
“I thought we settled that,” he said dismally, lowering his voice in the hall.  
“Never settled anything except you using me,” you hissed, squinting at him distastefully.  
“Using you? What?”  
“Don't act dumb. You know what you did.”  
You tried to shut the door, but he stopped it with his shined shoe.  
“Look. If you want to talk about this, fine, but I ain't doin' it out here. Let me in.”  
Was he using you then, too? Just to get in?  
Fuck it. The alcohol was beginning to seep into your thoughts, and so you opened the door. Casually, he stepped in, shutting it.  
“What the Hell is up with you?” he began, walking past you down to the living room.  
“You know what! Using me just to have a good fucking night.”  
He let out a heavy sigh.  
“That's what you're upset about? That's why you won't do the heist?”  
“I told you I was leaving,” you said, sliding your fingers over the counter as you walked beside it, stopping at the bottle of wine.  
“Woah, hold up. You don't need any more of that,” Michael interjected, swiping the bottle.  
“I paid for it and this is my apartment!”  
His demeanor was irritating. Controlling, know it all.  
“And you'll be paying for it again in the morning.”  
“I don't need a babysitter,” you spat, leaning idly against the marble.  
He ignored your remark, stepping over to the large window, viewing the city's lights, and he took a swig from the bottle.  
“You really thinking of leaving all this?” he asked, though it sounded more like he were talking to himself than you.  
You sighed, rolling your eyes.  
“Somewhere out there someone is probably getting mugged, raped or murdered. You're damn right I'm thinking – planning – of leaving this. I've talked to a landlord in Liberty City and everything.”  
“Right, because nobody gets robbed in Liberty City.”  
“Why the Hell do you care so much? Everything I do is just so wrong to you!”  
You pushed off the counter, a bit angry in your slightly drunken stupor. You were having a fine night until he decided to ruin it.  
“Just go away, Michael!” you demanded, angirly stepping over to your large apartment window. You looked over the city, and in that moment had just a ping of regret. DID you want to leave? Even if, within your sights were drugs and crime, did you want to leave it?  
“Please,” he sighed. “Just think about it.”  
“Did you tell anyone about what we did?” you quickly asked, not taking your eyes away from the view.  
“No. I promised I wouldn't. Who needs to know anyway?”  
“Do you think I'm easy?”  
Michael laughed.  
“What?”  
“Like, am I easy? A whore?”  
“Uh...no? If you're easy, I am, too.”  
He stepped up next to you, looking over the city with you.  
“You really don't like yourself, do you?”  
You didn't answer, refusing to look over at him. He was right, of course. A smart man. But did you want to admit it?  
“I don't really much like myself either. Never have. Like I said, what is happiness and why don't I have it?”  
“Hm,” was all you replied.  
“I get it. But don't spend your whole life running around looking for it. It just makes you more miserable.”  
“Maybe, Michael. I'm just unhappy and want to be happy.”  
“Don't we all?” he scoffed. “But if it's anything,” he said, hesitating, “I feel a bit happier with you here.”  
“Boost my ego some more,” you jokingly said.”  
“I mean it. You do well in the heists. You're smart. Someone I can talk to when shit hits the fan. I ain't found that in anyone else yet.”  
“Thanks. I...appreciate you, too,” you had to admit.  
The two of you stood, looking over the city's night lights. It was beautiful. You had a good apartment at Alta, and there was something to be said about sharing it with Michael. But was it true? Was it exactly what you wanted?  
“I don't know, though.”  
Michael groaned, placing his arm around your waist, pulling you in to him. You stood there, contemplating. Then you stepped away from his grasp, huddling up at the wall. You couldn't stay. There was nothing there.  
Michael again groaned, taking a step towards you.  
“Please, sweetheart. Just listen to me. I have the experience to know that I'm talking about. You ain't gonna' find what you want looking for it like you are.”  
You looked back out at the city, closing your eyes tightly. In that time, Michael stepped in front of you, letting his palm fall to your cheek. Opening your eyes, you two looked at each other with care, and you felt torn between knowing he was right, and feeling like you were right. What would you do?  
Michael placed an arm beside your head on the wall, leaning in just slightly. The smell of wine was faint on him, overpowered by whatever expensive cologne he wore. You couldn't figure what was so enticing about him, if it were just his charm or the alcohol you had drank. None the less, whatever it was, it was working, and well in just a short time.  
“What'll it take to keep you here, sweetheart? Honestly?”  
“Don't start that again.”  
“Just tell me. You need a little attention? Need to feel good?”  
You turned to look out at the city, reflecting brightly into the night sky. It was an empowering feeling, being in that moment, and you couldn't lie to yourself.  
Michael's hand slid between your back and the wall, pulling you in just slightly by the hip.  
“Tell me what you want,” he breathed, face falling in towards you neck, his breath sending a shiver throughout you. You recoiled, just slightly, but not enough that it prompted him to let go. Instead, his lips fell over your skin, his tongue just barely meeting it. Your hands grasped at his arms and squeezed, tightly.  
“So that's what you want,” he teased. “Is that all it takes you keep you here?”  
“I'm not – that easy -” you breathed, but he proved you wrong quickly, the hand on the wall now sliding into your hair, tangling it between his fingers as his mouth moved away from your neck and to your own.  
You tried to not fall into it, though your attempts weren't very strong, draping your arms over his shoulders, letting his tongue make a mess of yours.  
He lifted your leg at the thigh, grinding himself against you, biting softly at your lip. A quiet moan left you, and he tensed at it.  
“You like that?” he asked, pulling away, giving a sly smile as you gasped.  
“Fuckin' tease,” you whispered, a bit ashamed of yourself for how quickly he had torn you down.  
You both lazily paced to the counter, Michael groping you. At the counter, you leaned over it, his hips at yours. You wanted to kiss him though, and so you turned around. “Don't worry, you'll get it,” he assured, holding your thighs and suggesting with a light tug you sit back on the counter. You hopped up, your legs wrapping around his hips. His hands pressed against the marble top by your sides as he leaned in to kiss you hard.  
He tasted like wine, bitter but intoxicating. With a quick, smooth movement, he slid your sweatpants off, letting them fall to the ground in a heap. The underwear followed, leaving you bare and a bit chilled.  
“Cold?” he asked, running his lips over your jawline. You tensed up, arms bunching up the sides of his suit, gasping. His fingers slid between your thighs, softly rubbing them, his mouth moving from your neck to your own mouth, tongue dragging saliva up your jaw.  
“Hm, Michael,” you groaned.  
“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked with a seducing tone, fingers teasing right between your legs, caressing over your folds.  
You still felt a bit of shame for so easily spreading your legs. How did he do it? How was he so good? The thoughts faded quickly as his fingers slid inside of you, his thumb in circles over your clit.  
“Fuck,” you hissed breathlessly, digging your nails into his arms.  
“I wanna' hear you moan for me,” he whispered into your neck, flicking his fingers at the perfect spot. You gasped, a soft moan escaping with it.  
“Just give it to me, please,” you begged, the fingers feeling good but not what you really wanted.  
“Is that right?” he questioned, stepping back and leaving you hot.  
“Please,” you emphasized.  
He gave a quick smirk and a nod.  
“Get the shirt off, and you can have whatever you want,” he assured, and without hesitation you obliged, laying the shirt behind you so the marble wouldn't chill your back. At the sight of you bare, he came back towards you, grasping at your breast and pressing his mouth to yours. Your tongues made a mess between breaths.  
“I'm done waitin',” he said, pulling away and tugging at his suit pants, unzipping them quickly. He pressed his arms under your legs, leaning you back against the counter top with his hands resting by your shoulders.  
His hips moved and he was inside you, moving slowly, kissing you at times. It was already bliss. Your head turned, looking out the window and the city, a rush of feelings overwhelming you. His lips dotted your neck and jawline as his hips worked against you.  
“How's that?” he quipped, nipping your ear.. Reaching your arms around his back, you brought him closer, legs tensing by his sides.  
“Great.”  
“You want more?” He stopped moving, kissing you, leaving you begging.  
“Please,” you breathed, and this seemed to give him what he wanted, and again he thrusted, your nails dotting crescent shaped marks on his skin.  
“That's it,” he whispered, face now inches from yours as he focused on the heat between the two of you. You felt it growing, your muscles tense, dragging your nails down his biceps. Head back, neck exposed, he bit and licked it, and it was enough to get you off, moaning his name. This seemed to pull him where he needed, his thrusts slowing, hitting harder, until you both were there panting.  
“Please stay here,” he finally said as he pushed off of you. You didn't reply then, both of you taking time to clean up. You met back in the living room. He sat on the couch, welcoming you to sit beside him, his arm around you, caressing your shoulder.  
“I'll...think on it. Staying.”  
“No thinking on it. You will or you won't. If you don't want to stay after that, then I guess nothing will keep you.”  
“Fine. For now. But just know it's still on the table,” you emphasized.  
“Sure. 'I'll take it.”  
The two of you sat on the couch, looking over the city, talking over a glass of wine. And that sight gave you the will to know you wanted to say, with him – everyone – and the life the city offered, as confusing as it could be.


End file.
